Perfect Soldier
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: What makes the perfect soldier? Kerrigan found herself asking such a question on the battlefields of Antiga Prime.


**Perfect Soldier**

They call Ghosts the perfect soldiers.

I can understand why, as much as I hate the reasons. Taken from a young age (birth, in some cases), to serve the Confederacy of Man. Individuals with latent psionic power – the gifted few of humanity. The future of the human race, as some claim. Those who have been trained the hardest, the longest, the harshest. All to create covert assassins to carry out the will of the lords and masters of Tarsonis. Like ghosts, of folklore, we stalk our enemies. And as vengeful spirits, we end the lives of those who have earned our wrath. Whether it be through the bullet, the blade, or the power of our own minds.

It is no different for me. My master is not the Confederacy. And Arcturus Mengsk is not only my saviour, but my friend as well. The one man I know I can trust in this ever darkening universe. But for all those differences, my actions are the same. My methods are the same. My role, in this war, is the same. Even as the nature of war itself changes around us, whether it be the swarms of the zerg, or the unnatural fire of the protoss. As the Confederacy crumbles from without, and within.

It's no different from Antiga Prime. The zerg are here. The Confederate Army can barely keep them in check. The Sons of Korhal, stronger than ever with the recruitment of that slike Duke and his Alpha Squadron, are all too happy to give the zerg a helping hand, provided that they continue to swarm in the right direction. And it's on the barren, blasted landscape of Antiga Prime that I stalk my prey. Alone. From a ridge, I stare down the scope of my C-10 canister rifle. Normally, snipers are accompanied by spotters. But Ghosts aren't normal. And like the ghosts of our namesake, we tend to haunt our foes alone.

A group of Confederate army soldiers is making its way through the valley. The remnants of the 28th Infantry Battalion, the unit mostly lost to the zerg. Stragglers have been picked off by local Antigans. But among them is a Lieutenant Ho Chi – member of Confederate Intelligence, and possibly carrying information on Antigan rebel positions. Out this far in this territory, it's too risky to send a force – the Colonial Fleet controls the skies, and travelling over Antiga is difficult these days. So, Arcturus has given me this mission. To let me work alone, as I like it. Yes, I'm sure that pig Raynor will be disappointed, but fekk him. I don't need that Fringe-squib on my mind right now. All that matters now is to fire a shot, kill my target, and leg it back to SoK lines before the Confederates, or worse, the zerg, find me. And all that will take is-

 **Bam.**

Well. I wasn't expecting that.

The soldiers have tripped a landmine. A simple anti-personnel device, in use even before our ancestors departed Old Earth. One unlucky bastard has tripped up on it, and said unlucky bastard is now screaming in agony, as his power armoured leg lies separate from his power armoured body. And-

 _Huh. It's Ho Chi._

I remember a lecture by some Confederate bigwig that I read. After Arcturus saved me of course, reading wasn't exactly a common pastime in the Ghost Program. It was the claim that land mines were the perfect weapons. They were soldiers. Perfect soldiers, actually. Perfect, because they were always ready to act Perfect, because by their design, they are intended to maim, not kill. Because they operate as to how the common soldier is meant to operate. Maim, don't kill the enemy. Kill one soldier, and one soldier is lost. Wound one, and three are required to save him (or her). As a Ghost, I do not engage by such terms. An assassin is not given a target to wound. Not as the ultimate goal at least. But I am not blind to how war is waged. How it has been waged for centuries.

Ho Chi is screaming. And more of his men are screaming as zerg erupt from the ground across the valley and begin charging.

I wince as the troopers begin firing. I know this tactic. The zerg, for all their monstrosity, do possess the ability to carry out attacks akin to a predator, or heck, even an actual army. I reflect that it's likely that the mine blast could have set the zerglings on the collision course. I also reflect that it's possible that there's enough troopers (and more importantly, enough firepower), to take out the critters. And I reflect, not for the first time, how war has changed. You can only kill the zerg. You wound them, that zerg may return. You wound one, and the hundreds, thousands more that bear down on you won't give a damn. With the zerg, all that is left, is kill, or be killed. The zerg's method of waging war (if it can be called that), is antithical to our own. Does that make them the galaxy's perfect soldiers? And if not, who has that role?

It doesn't matter. I can already see the outcome. The troopers have formed a circle, but there's just too many. One by one, they will fall. Not be wounded, not be maimed, just killed, before the zerg move onto the next target. In a way, the zerg have done my job for me. Three sets of perfect killers. Only I didn't have to fire a shot.

But I still do so. I kill my target. He's a liability to the Confederates, and they can't help him as they fight for their own lives. So all I can do is get out of here ASAP, and tell Arcturus that the job has been done. By a Ghost. The perfect soldier.

The one that can kill with the bullet, the blade, or their own mind.

And even kill out of mercy.


End file.
